Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

The warhammer lands between the ox horns with such force that another explosion rocks the fossil. I slump back in my saddle, too dazed to see what’s happened. Then I realise that the ghorgon is on its back, pawing at its bloodied face, blinded by my attack.

The fossil groans and snaps. Zarax almost loses her footing, staggering towards the lava. I grasp on to a broken shard of stone and hold us steady seconds before we plunge to our deaths. I’m just inches from the lava and my eyes stream in the heat.

Zarax leaps back to safety and I draw Evora, preparing to attack the ghorgon again.

The monster’s legs are thrashing wildly beneath it and it is unable to rise. My blow has crippled it. I behead the beast with single clean swipe of my runeblade.

I take a look back at the way we came and see a breathtaking sight. Boreas stands alone and his golden armour has been torn away in several places. He’s swaying like a drunk as ghorgons charge towards him, perched precariously on a single, massive vertebra, only hanging on with one hand and holding his warhammer aloft with the other. His reliquary has gone and there’s blood rushing from his skull mask, but he will not yield an inch. I can hear his voice from here, hoarse but defiant, ringing out over the noise of the monster’s thrashing limbs. He’s surrounded by blinding columns of light as paladins die all around him.

‘Drusus!’ I howl, scouring the skies for a sight of the Prosecutors. Most of them are gathered at the opposite end of the fossil, defending Castamon and his Liberators as they try to reach the shore, but there is no sign of Drusus’ red-plumed helmet.

I cry his name again and look back to Boreas.

A ghorgon lunges with its rusted hooks and Boreas swings his hammer but as he does a staccato blast of lightning explodes along the creature’s head. It jolts back from the fossil, letting out a furious howl, and Boreas tumbles from his perch towards the lava.

I curse, but as the blast clears I see a pair of blazing wings and Drusus soars into view, holding Boreas aloft with the aid of another Prosecutor. Others dive into battle, blasting the enemy back into the lava.

A wounded ghorgon prepares to lash out at Boreas and his rescuers, but Zarax gets there first, bounding over a final section of bone and fastening her jaws around the monster’s tree trunk throat.

I bring both sword and hammer down into its face.

The afterglow of Drusus’ attack is still shimmering over the monster’s hide and it ignites my weapons, creating another dazzling blast.

The creature is thrown backwards, towards the lava. I turn to land another blow. A volley of hammer-blows lights up the monster’s flank as Drusus and the other Prosecutor swoop by, still clutching Boreas. The final ghorgon drops into the lava but manages to clamber back onto the bridge and slice its hooks into Zarax.

I thrust Evora into one of its eyes and ink-black blood smashes into me with such force that I’m knocked back in my saddle. By the time I rise, the monster has almost vanished back into the lava. The last of its hooks is still buried deep in Zarax’s hide.

She staggers and slips towards the edge of the bones, unable to free herself. Almost in the lava, she turns her proud, draconic head and unleashes a bolt of crackling energy into the ghorgon. The light burns with such violence that she becomes a silhouette, haloed by blazing white power.

A final, agonised howl bubbles up from the lava as the sinking ghorgon releases Zarax and she staggers back to safety.

She pauses to steady herself, then pads back towards the shore, majestic and magnificent, smoke trailing from her jaws and lightning sparking between her midnight blue scales.

‘What were they?’ I ask, looking up at the sky and not expecting an answer. It is the first time I have crossed Lake Malice, and I’ve only ever heard rumours of what lies beyond. The ground is an ugly mass of dull black stone, but the scene overhead is breathtaking. Huge shards of masonry hang motionless in the air, defying gravity or explanation. They are carved from flawless white stone and covered with the most beautiful murals and statues — serpentine, mythological creatures that wind around graceful, arched doorways and looping, spiral stairs. They’re clearly the product of an elegant, cultured civilization, quite unlike the brutal Chaos architecture that has looked down on my entire life. But something terrible must have happened. All that remains are these broken, drifting fragments: steps that lead to nowhere and rooms that are open to the elements, revealing sad glimpses of forgotten halls and abandoned terraces. The lowest of the fragments is over thirty feet above the ground and it’s hard to gauge the scale, but I can tell the proportions are all wrong. No humans could have lived in these grand chambers. The rooms and doors are ten times the height of a man. This was the abode of giants.

‘It was a palace.’

I’m so shocked to get a response that I almost laugh. Since Khorlagh ushered us down onto the lakeshore no one has spoken. We’ve trudged beneath these ruins for half an hour in silence.

‘Whose palace?’ I ask.

Hakh looks up at the shards of white stone. The embers in his eyes flicker into life as he studies the floating remnants. ‘Can’t you see them?’ he asks, sounding surprised.

‘See who?’ I follow his shimmering gaze and think, perhaps, I can see something — a vague flicker of shadows near one of the doorways. But the harder I stare, the more it slips away.

Hakh grunts a laugh. ‘For once I see more than you. You’re too mortal.’

I stare harder, annoyed that this brute can perceive things that I can’t, but it’s no use.

He shrugs, still watching the figures I can’t see. ‘It doesn’t matter. They were nothing. Just stupid giants. They refused to kneel so Khorne gave them a gift.’

‘The Crucible of Blood,’ I stare through the moonlit ruins at the flashes of brass through the gaps in the crumbling walls.

He nods and spares me a proud glance. ‘Their magic could not save them — instead it trapped them.’ He laughs again. ‘Now they die, over and over again, forever.’

The pleasure in his voice hardens my resolve. Whatever guilt I feel over that golden knight is meaningless. All that matters is that Hakh pays. All that matters is destroying him.

‘Not far now,’ I say, looking further into the ruins.

He nods, but that’s clearly all the conversation he can manage.

As we march on beneath the drifting stones, I start to sense their architects even if I can’t see them. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I hear a low, alien cry filled with increasing desperation. At first it is intriguing, but it quickly becomes distressing. The voice sounds tormented. The centuries have done nothing to lessen the pain. It sounds like something forever on the brink of salvation, but unable to quite reach it. I try covering my ears to block out the sound, eliciting an odd look from Hakh, but it’s useless — the sounds are all in my mind.

As we reach the centre of the ruined city, the ground starts to become more uneven and slopes up towards the lip of a vast bowl — an enormous crater at least a mile across. At the centre is the thing I’ve been trying to avoid looking at, but as I reach the edge of the huge pit that cradles it, I’m finally forced to face the destination I’ve dragged us all to.

Grinning at us in the moonlight is a single brass skull. It’s so tall that my eyes struggle to make sense of its design, but I’ve heard enough to know this is the Crucible of Blood. It gleams a lurid yellow in the predawn light, but its expression is the thing that takes the strength from my legs. Its leering, rictus grin speaks of a bloodlust so full of vigour that I feel as though I’m facing a living beast, a merciless hunter, about to pounce. The eye sockets stare at me, revealing what lies inside — thousands of gallons of human blood, lapping gently at the thick, brass walls. Some kind of sorcery stops the blood pouring through the eye sockets, so it looks as though the skull is watching me with a pair of blind, crimson orbs.